Courtship
by Emily A. Wilde
Summary: He's forgotten so much about her. Peter/Alicia. NOTE THE RATING PLEASE.


_**COURTSHIP**_

**Rating:** M  
**Warnings:** Sex. To be blunt.  
**Spoiler alert**: 2x01 right now. I haven't seen the rest yet, except the last few weeks, but from the looks of this, if I continue in any way, I won't be playing along with the relationship aspect of the second season.  
**Disclaimer:** Recognize it? Then I don't own it. And much to my utter shock I only have Miranda Cosgrove to thank for the new obsession.  
**Notes: **I actually haven't decided where I sit on the Peter-Will scale. This one is Peter because the scene existed and I took it further, but I haven't decided which one I like better. Peter's a bit of a jerk (okay, a lot of a jerk) and I do like Will, but the complications on both sides are so big... See? I'm indecisive.

. . . . .

Peter's forgotten just how _good_ Alicia was in the courtroom. He's so used to seeing her at home, with the kids, that he's forgotten how dynamic she is, how passionate, how… _beautiful_. But she's done a good job reminding him.

Alicia's not the type to control outright. She's always been quiet in her influence, always put her absolute trust in everything she does. She's the type who looks for the truth and doesn't stop fighting until she finds it. That much, he hasn't forgotten. Her influence on his life is always there, in every brush of her, every moment he has with her. They're few and far between these days, but he's trying and he knows she can see that.

But seeing her in court… Well, it's been a wake up call. He finds himself staring at her door, thinking carefully because he knows his wife. She still doesn't completely trust him and he can, in some ways, understand that. He knows he's made a lot of mistakes, he's man enough to acknowledge that much, and he's starting to realize that he's become too comfortable with the suburban housewife Alicia had been during his stint as State Attorney.

She's more than that. He's caught a glimpse of that today, of the woman he'd met while she attended Georgetown. He's remembering why he fell in love with her all over again and he can admit that he wants her to do the same. He misses her, the fight, the spice, and he's realizing exactly how much of a role work plays in that.

The picture of her fighting with the judge for Fifth Amendment rights is seared into his brain. Between that, and the shower he can hear running from the ensuite, he's not sure he can resist the pull. He wants her, he wants the passionate fighting force he saw in the courtroom. So he pushes open her door – and someday, he'll think of it as _their_ door – and heads straight for the bathroom.

He takes a moment to look at her in the mirror, to admire her and then she meets his eyes in the mirror. He's not quite sure what she says. He's not paying attention and quite frankly he doesn't care. He's focused on something else as he steps up behind her and turns her to face him. He knows the heat's in his eyes because he can recognize the confusion in hers.

He makes himself clear swiftly by lifting her to the counter and pinning her there with his body. She's still a bit confused and when she asks him what he's doing he just answers with honesty. She really _was_ awesome in court and he's that serious about it. But she's also beautiful so his hands deal with the belt of her robe, his fingers vaguely brushing against the _very _soft skin of her thigh.

He leans forward, kissing her, distracting her. He know she's trying to tell him something about studying, and there's a part of him that knows she does need to, but he's too focused on her, on the scent of her, the feel of her and the look of her in that power suit, in that courtroom, essentially telling the judge to 'shove it'.

So he slides his hand up her thigh, brushing the heat of her. Her back arches a little and as he leans towards her he sees her eyes slide closed. It's always a thrill to bring her pleasure, but more so now, when she's so controlled, when she's so careful to stay away from him. Tonight, he won't have it. So he leans forward and her scent invades his nostrils so completely. The skin just above her left breast gets his attention, just a short, swift, sweet kiss, but it also affords him the absolute delight of feeling her pulse jump.

It's a thrill to know he can still affect her.

He wraps her legs around his waist, leaving her with little doubt as to his intentions and wraps an arm around her back to pull her against him. She still seems confused, and her body is still tense, but it didn't deter him. He knew her, even now. She exhaled against his mouth as he kissed her again. She reached between them as he spread her robe further, grasping the wrist that was dangerously close to her center.

"Peter." Her face is earnest, sincere, serious. "I have to study."

He takes a second, but only one. He wants her, and though she's trying to tell him she wants to study, trying to say that she has work to do, she isn't telling him to stop. "Okay," he whispers after that second and his hand shifts enough to stroke her wet heat and make her breath catch again. "Let me."

She looks so adorably confused as his hands move slowly and he moves to his knees. He doesn't want this to be about domination or about control. It's about passion, like the passion he saw in her in that courtroom. It's about _them_ and for the first time in a long time, Peter realizes that if he really wants Alicia back with him, completely, that's the way he has to start thinking of his life. It's not about him, it's not about his ambitions or his campaigns, it's about _them_.

He's spent so much time defending his family. Now, he needs to really become a part of it. And he knows it can start with Alicia.

When he'd met her, she'd been just as dynamic in the courtroom as she was that day. Just as beautiful, just as passionate, just as strong. But this time, it's not a mock trial for Georgetown. This time, it's a real case, with real people and real consequences. And he's feeling so many things about seeing her there. The most important one, and he knows this, is pride.

He's also feeling Alicia, smelling her, and tasting her when his mouth presses against the inside of her knee. She's gripping the edge of the counter as he trails up her leg, as his mouth brushes higher and higher against her. His fingers are dancing in her folds and he can feel and hear her react. He knows she still loves him, even if she's having a hard time just dealing with him.

But this… this isn't hard and he knows Alicia isn't the type to look at sex as 'just sex'. It always means something, and in this case, he wants it to. He wants this to be about her, an acknowledgment that as much as she is his, he's powerless to resist her. He needs her, in his life, in his bed, in his heart, and he has every intention of fighting for her and for what they built. It's not perfect, and the circumstances aren't ideal, but he finds himself thinking that he doesn't want her to play the perfect political wife anymore. She has a job, a family, a life and someday, she's going to share it all with him again. Completely.

For now though, he's willing to take this. His tongue draws tantalizing patters on her thigh. He wants to chuckle when her hand reaches out, slamming the lights off at the same time his hands slide up her sides, just barely brushing the sides of her breasts. She breathes out harshly and he feels her arch again. His tongue touches her folds, tasting her, and her hips outright buck this time. He glances up at her. Her eyes are closed, her hand looking for something to grip.

When his mouth closes on her clit, her breath catches audibly for a moment before she lets out a loud moan. He chuckles quietly to himself, splaying one hand over her back to keep her hips in line with his mouth. Her hand that still grips the counter moves to thread into his hair and he knows he has her. So he slows down, brushing his tongue softly against her clit while the hand that had been holding her thighs apart follows his mouth.

"Peter." Her voice is breathy, heated, _perfect_ and he slides a finger into her heat in response. She outright chokes on air this time and he takes great pride in that reaction. Her hips are starting to move with the stroke of his tongue against her clit and he starts to move his finger too. She does have work to do, and he can acknowledge that much, so he has no intentions of making this slow. Right now, this is the only way he can show his appreciation for her and for what she's done.

He knows the minute she goes over by the low moan she releases and he's admittedly proud of himself. He slides his finger out of her, brushing against her clit one last time and she jerks, oversensitized. He leans in and kisses her as he laughs. His hands are soothing now as they stroke up her sides, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as his hands stroke her back.

And then she surprises him.

Well, more like floors him.

She pushes him back, shoves him, really, and lunges in a way he hasn't seen her do since the early days of their courtship. And, as her lips meet his, he realizes exactly how ingrained the housewife mentality had been in her. He takes some of the blame for that and finds himself vaguely pondering the idea of just how much his infidelities were his fault. Alicia knows the picture of the perfect wife was everything to their public image while he was in office, but the Alicia he started dating way back when she was just finishing law school had exhibited all of the same passionate features he can see and feel in her now.

His arms wrap around her tightly, holding her to him, kissing her back with the same ardour. She's fighting him for control of their kiss and it's a turn on he's not sure either of them had realized existed. He fights back though, lifting her, ignoring the fact that the shower's running and stumbling to the bed. He presses her down into the blankets as he falls on top of her, and she's fighting with his tie. When she manages to get it undone, she throws it aside, and yanks him down to her mouth again.

This is not the mild-mannered Alicia Florrick that lived in Highland Park. There's nothing gentle about her lips on his, the fisting of her hands in his shirt. But he's completely okay with that and he supports himself on one arm long enough to push open her robe and get his hands on more of her skin before she yanks him down to her again.

He rolls them across the bed and groans when she settles herself against him erection. She grins down at him in triumph as she deals quickly with the buttons of his shirt and he pushes her robe down her shoulders. He rears up when she finishes with the buttons and his mouth wraps around her breast for the first time that night. Her head tilts back as her hands grip his back and there's a bit of frantic shifting before his dress shirt is in a pile on the ground with her robe.

He rolls her beneath him and pauses, looking down at her. Her chest presses against him with every breath, her hair is spread around her, on the bedspread, and she's naked beneath him. He shakes his head slightly, but with a smile as he leans down to press a kiss against her cheek, her jaw, her chin and her mouth.

"You are…"

There's a vulnerability in her eyes when she pushes up against him, distracting him, and he lets her. They're still in an odd place and he can understand why she's so reluctant to let him in. He kisses her back, but fights against her when she looks to speed up the pace. He doesn't want to. He wants _her_ and he doesn't want it to be a split second. She's going to regret this in the morning- heck, maybe even in five minutes – so he's going to take his time to explore and remember.

And explore he does, every inch of her and he feels his own pride wash through him at the idea that he's turned his wife, this woman who was so dynamic and in control in the courtroom, into the woman arching beneath his touch. She sighs as he brushes his lips along her throat, moans when it latches onto her breast again and he's admittedly unsurprised when claws at his pants. He pulls back enough to help her, to pull the t-shirt he wore under his dress shirts over his head. The pile of clothes grows at the end of the bed.

Then he's just as naked as she is and their pelvises are pressed together as his mouth worships her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders. He glories in every move, every shift, and moans with her when she rubs her wetness against his length.

"Peter," she groans.

"Alicia," he whispers back as he kisses her again. "Condom."

And then she surprises him and shakes her head, cupping his face in her palms. "I never got the IUD removed, Peter."

He's delirious now, and he leans back to meet her eyes. Alicia doesn't lie. She never has and it's something he's always taken for granted. He presses his face into her neck and slides into her in the same move. The mood shifts, and he knows she can feel it. The push of her fingers becomes a soft brush, and though her legs wrap around his hips, it's not about bringing him closer, forcing him to move. It's about cherishing her, like he promised to do and took her for granted instead.

The slick slide into her is all the better for the emotions racing through him, racing through her if the little catch in her breath is any indication. It's that moment he realizes that he needs Alicia to be on the same page he is. He needs her with him and he acknowledges, if only in his head, that he really is willing to do anything to get back the trust he's so obviously lost. He _loves_ her and though he may have let other things go to his head, he's determined now, more than ever, to remind Alicia why they're together, why they got married. He wants the Alicia he met that summer in Washington, not the housewife she played for his image.

"It's going to change," he whispers to her, against her mouth. "Everything is going to change, Alicia."

"Shut up," she breathes back. "Just… shut up. Please."

He does, but it has nothing to do with her request and everything to do with the odd mixture of weakness and desire in her plea. Instead, he hisses her again, moving within her slowly, steadily. The push and slide has him on the edges of his control, but he holds on with his fingertips. He's not sure when he's going to get an opportunity like this again and he intends to savour this intimacy with his wife. It's too important, _she's_ too important, and if this is going to be the last of the intimacy for a while, he's going to burn every moment into his memory.

Her second orgasm is all the better for him. He feels her around him, the flutter, the tensing in her body, and he presses his lips against her pulse as his release hits. He whispers her name and he knows that there's a reverence in his tone, whether she acknowledges it or not. When he comes back to himself he's wrapped his arms tightly around her, and he's surprised to feel her still there with him. Her arms are still wrapped around his shoulders, and her breathing is much calmer than his.

He presses his lips just behind her ear. "Alicia?"

He's almost completely shocked when her fingers tighten on his back and so he snaps his mouth closed and just holds her. It takes him a minute to realize she's crying when she starts to shake against him and regret flashes through him so swiftly it almost paralyzes him. He rolls until he's on his back, taking her with him and sliding his hands up and down her skin. He makes absent shushing noises in her ear as she cries and he's humbled by the breakdown as much as he feels responsible.

"I'm sorry," he says in her ear, and he's shocked to find his own voice choked, his own eyes watering. "I'm so sorry, Honey."

She shakes her head and burrows closer. He realizes he's broken down her defenses, broken down her walls and he's actually not proud of himself at all. Instead, he finds himself almost as broken as she is.

"Where did we go wrong?" she asks after a moment, her tears having slowed, but still loud in her voice. "What happened to us?"

He had a million answers, but he wasn't sure which one was the right one anymore. "I don't know."

She pushes herself up slightly and there's a twitch of a smile, even though it's not anywhere near happy or amused. "Thank you for being honest."

He pauses for a moment, relishing the fact that she's still close, the closest they've been beyond the time she jumped him in his room. Then he reaches up to brush his thumb softly over her cheek, wiping at the moisture there. "I do want 'us' back," he says quietly.

"Peter, don't-"

He presses a hand gently over her mouth as the corner of his lips turned up. "I'm not a saint, Alicia. I know I've made mistakes. I know I've screwed up. I know it's going to take a long time to earn back your trust. But I want to." He closes his eyes for a moment. "I talk about family in my campaign. I make deals with Childs to keep our families out of it. Then I drag you into it, making you play a part that isn't you, a part I forced you into. I don't want that."

Her brown eyes are utterly shocked, and he's kind of glad he can still do that to her. "Don't get me wrong, I don't control you. I never have. You made choices and we made choices, but… that stopped. I want to start making decisions with you again. I want to go back to… to the little notes we left before we were married, to the date nights where we left the kids with my mother to have time just for us."

She lets out a sigh, but drops her head back onto his shoulder. "I don't know, Peter. I really don't know."

"I don't either." He shrugs when she tilts her face to look at him. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it better. I'm terrified, Alicia. Terrified that you're going to walk out, that you're going to take the kids with you." He closes his eyes and drops his head into the pillows that smell like her. "I took you for granted. I assumed you'd always be here." He looks at her. "I lost your trust and I understand that. But I also don't want to be apologizing all the time. I have, and I know that it's not enough, but…"

This time, she's the one to silence him and she looks contemplative and maybe a bit amused. "I've never known you to babble."

"I'm out of my league," he tells her, not even blinking as he says it. "I'm out of my depth." There's slience for a minute. "I don't want to make you promises. I'm not sure you'll believe them."

"I probably won't," she admits with a gentle smile. Her fingers brush against the hair on his forehead, and he realizes it's a gesture she's not even completely aware she's making. She's giving him a lifeline.

"Let's start again."

She sighs and starts to move away, but he holds fast.

"Hear me out," he pleads, outright pleads, and she settles. "I don't mean a clean slate. I'm… stupid, but not that stupid." He pauses. "We'll… pretend it's like Georgetown. We don't ignore what happened-"

Like she could.

"But… we work from it."

She just looks at him, that poker face she's developed perfectly in place. Finally, she blows out a breath. "I'm not sure I get it."

He closes his eyes, because he's not sure he's ready to see the pain that always flashes through her eyes when he says his next words. "I love you. I don't want to lose you. So," he sucks in a breath and opens his eyes again. "We date."

"We date? Peter, we're married."

"Legally," he agrees, "but everything else?"

She glances away and he knows he has his answer. It hurts, but he cups her face in his palms. "I mean this, Alicia. You don't believe me. I understand that. But I mean it."

He slides her off his body and stands, because if he's serious he knows he has to leave, even though he wants nothing more than to curl up beneath the covers with her. He needs to give her time and space to think or he's just going to push her until she closes down. She sits up as he bends down and pulls her robe from the pile. He smiles affectionately as he drapes it around her shoulders. She shrugs into it as he pulls his boxers and t-shirt on. It looks enough like pajamas to fool Zach, who's still in the living room with headphones in. His clothes go into the basket in the closet for dry cleaning and he heads for the door.

The creak of the bed makes him turn back, and he's surprised to find her coming towards him. She grasps the robe tighter, even as she comes to a stop just inches from him.

"The kids…"

"I'll tuck them in," he promises. Then lets himself lean down to press his mouth to hers one last time. He closes the door behind him and regardless of the fact that he hasn't gotten any promises from her, his heart feels lighter. He's serious about her, serious about getting 'them' back.

And he really feels like he's taken a step in the right direction.

* * *

_I'd appreciate a review. Not necessary, but greatly appreciated. _


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